


One Fear

by thrilloffirstlove



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Death, M/M, background javid, sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrilloffirstlove/pseuds/thrilloffirstlove
Summary: Spot is terrified of death. Race is powerless against it.





	One Fear

Spot has always been afraid of death. When he was small, he would duck into the bathroom, lock the door, and sob quietly with his legs dangling over the countertop, thinking about the concept of dying. Then, he didn’t fully understand it, not really, but as he got older the panic attacks became more frequent and more vivid. He was known to cuddle up into a corner, whether it be of the lodging house or of the street, and shake, sobbing quietly to himself and hoping that no one would see. Because that would make him vulnerable, and if there was anything that Spot Conlon wasn’t, it was vulnerable.

The only person that knows any of this is Race. He guards the secret, keeps Spot’s late-night confessions locked away in his box of secrets, and tries to chase away the feeling that Spot isn’t telling him everything. Like what made him so afraid, and why it persists. Logically, he knows that any of them could die at any moment, especially on the streets, poor and hungry as they were, but it seems to Race that Spot’s fear is beyond that. So he guards it, and doesn’t allow a single other soul to know the skeletons that lie in the back of Spot’s brain.

It’s a Saturday when Spot dies. It’s raining, like it always seems to on the worst days that Race has ever experienced, although this one is most certainly the worst that he has ever endured. He falls, off of the roof, too daring, inching too close to the edge, and careening down the space of six stories for his trouble. They say he was killed instantly, “they” being the sympathetic doctor that made a detour out of his afternoon walk, shook his head sadly, and told Race that there was nothing to be done. He left after that, evidently no longer wanting to be bothered by a dirty newsboy and the dead love of his life, as Race privately called Spot in his head, and Race is left with the shell that was left of the only person that he ever truly knew. Once he is void of all tears, has bled them all out, he finds some of the other newsies from Brooklyn and puts together a funeral. It’s pathetic, how small it is really, but it’s the best they can do and nearly everyone speaks, either saying what Spot had meant to them or recounting some stunt that he had pulled in the past.

After the funeral, Race doesn’t tell anyone about Spot’s fear. It’s selfish, in a way, the one part of Spot that he feels like he still has, but it’s also that he can’t bring himself to share that pain with anyone else. The knowledge that Spot is confronting his greatest fear, his _only_ fear, truly, as the scabs and the spiders and Pulitzer never got to him, not really. Even when he had engaged in a particularly nasty fight, he ended it with a grin and pranced off to find Race with that self-satisfied walk of his. Still, he didn’t mock Race for his plethora of fears, from sewer rats to the first time that they had been able to afford a bed in an empty room, a door with a lock, and several hours to engage in each other’s bliss. Race had been terrified that day, terrified that he wouldn’t be what Spot wanted, or that Spot would leave him after and never speak to him again. He hadn’t, even if no one ever knew what they meant to each other. Excepting Jack, who had burst in upon them kissing, and Race had been too petrified to move while Spot took a possessive step in front of him and squared his fists, until words had spilled out of Jack’s mouth about Davey, and about how it was _okay,_ he was like them, he wasn’t a threat, and Spot had relaxed and allowed Race to run forward and hug Jack, a silent thank you.

After that, Jack had spared private smirks just for Race, whenever he had tried to casually tell him that he was headed to Brooklyn for some errand, or to go play the ponies, or whatever lie he thought of that day. Jack would just shake his head and give his permission, obviously knowing exactly why Race was so keen on Brooklyn, and not caring one bit. Besides, Race never said anything when Jack gave Davey a look that was too long or lingered his arm on Davey’s.

Race isn’t afraid of death. He should be, he supposes, the great unknown and all that, but the whole idea seems like too much energy, too much time spent on something that he cannot control. What he is afraid of is living without Spot, because ever since he met him he couldn’t bear not to see the other boy for more than a couple of days, itching to touch, the urge consuming him, until finally, _finally,_ they were alone. After, when he is alone, back at the lodging house and wedged firmly under a blanket, he tries his hardest not to think about Spot’s panic attacks. About how he cried for hours sometimes when he thought of what might happen after his heart ceased to beat. About how Race would hug him, feeling as utterly useless as one could feel, and whisper assurances into Spot’s ear that were never heard. He most definitely does not think about how scared Spot must have been, in the few seconds that he was plummeting to the ground, in the moments that he knew that he was going to die. That sounds like the very worst thing that Race can imagine, so he doesn’t, he locks it into his secret box along with Spot’s confessions and keeps it as hidden within himself as he can.

Because Spot’s biggest fear was death, and when it happened, Race couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.


End file.
